


New Moon on the Rise

by Emmuzka



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Disability, Future Fic, Happy Ending, M/M, Porn Star AU, Porn Star Stiles, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmuzka/pseuds/Emmuzka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had one or two long ass shooting days in a week, plus photo sessions, promo, some meetings and paper work. Add a few dinners or nightclub parties to make nice with people the production company wanted on their good side (Stiles still couldn't believe how much people wanted to meet or present to their friends <i>actual porn stars</i>), and his week was done. Not a bad job for a guy with fucked up hands, no further education, ADHD, PTSD and a couple of other letters. </p><p>And the best thing was that Stiles was no longer scared. He was fucking done being scared for the rest of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles woke up to his phone’s intentionally annoying alarm sound at nine, like always. He took his time to stretch on the satin sheets (black and luxurious, a total cliché and also expensive as shit, but oh so worth it) and went through his mental check. Nightmares; None. Pain level: Low. Somewhere he particularly needed to be this morning: Nope. 

Stiles was tempted to skip his morning gym session, but Thursday was the weekly housecleaning day and it would be better for Stiles to be somewhere else when Maria would come to attack the flat’s dust bunnies like they were her personal enemies. 

So gym it would be. Had to keep his body in shape. Stiles dug up some slacks and a threadbare, now suspiciously hipster looking t-shirt, and strapped his second-best wrist braces on. He would shower and eat breakfast after the gym. In the master bedroom’s bathroom he only brushed his teeth. He’d shaved yesterday so today there was no need, and fuck if he assed to do something to his hair when he’d get sweaty anyway. He took his handful pills with water and was ready to go. 

Sometimes ADHD symptoms would lessen in adulthood when a person's brain chemistry catches up on how it's supposed to function. That was not the case with Stiles. Nowadays he just took in on a stride and he’d really learned to love his medication.

Stiles was just heading out when his phone rang. He’d planned to walk to the gym as it was only a few blocks, and the traffic noise would make a phone conversation difficult. He paused on the doorway and concentrated on digging the phone out of his pocket. Damn these things were made slippery these days. 

When Stiles read from the screen that it was Scott who was calling, his blood run cold. Was it his dad? It was over a year ago when he had talked with Scott the last time, and a couple of weeks from calling his dad. It had to be his dad, fuck. 

He took a deep breath and braced himself, double checking how he’d wrapped his fingers around the phone. Now wouldn’t be the time for him to drop it.

“Scott, hi. Why are you calling?”

“Hi Stiles. Uh, can’t I call just because?” 

“You could, but you won’t. Is it my dad?” Stiles leaned against the door, his knees already weak. 

“Is your dad what?” It took a second for Scott to catch his point. “No, your dad is fine, I’m not calling because of him.”

Stiles felt like he could now breathe again. “Okay. Good. Well then, what is it?”

Scott got back to his track. “Yes, yeah. I don't know if you have heard about it, but Deaton has died. Heart attack."

He hadn't heard about it. Scott understood his silence differently. "Yes it was a real heart attack, and not a _heart attack_." Stiles could hear the quotation marks in Scott's voice. He wondered if Scott had unconsciously gesticulated them too while on the phone. 

So. A death in the… family, Stiles supposed. "Okay. Do you want me to come to the funeral or something?"

"Um." Now it was Scott's turn to pause. "Not really. There already was a funeral a week ago."

Oh, that was nice. Really considerate. “So what do you need me for? Potluck?"

"Ms. Moreau couldn’t be reached, so we’d got a permission to clear his stuff away, but some of it... It doesn't want to be moved?" Scott's tone made that a question, revealing that he knew how absurd that had sounded. 

"His _stuff_ doesn’t want to… What, like, you have earrings that yell _I belong to the Crestomanci Castle?"_

"What?" 

Stiles sighed. Scott had never been into kids' fantasy, anyway. Or even enjoying reading books overall in that age. "Never mind. So Deaton's magic shit doesn't want to be moved by just anyone, and you need to clear it before the new owner of the house gets antsy. You really couldn’t reach Morrell?"

"His son. The owner of the house, I mean. No-one knew that he had a son!” Scott sounded like he was personally offended by this information. Maybe Scott had liked a little too much of the _like the son he never had_ that they’d had had going on at the time Stiles had been still around. “But the son is like, a muggle, we’ll have to get the books out of there!” At least Scott had finally read his Harry Potters, then. “And we did reach Morrell, kind of. She answered her phone, but just to say that she knows that she's not the one to do it."

"And you think it's me."

"Yeah. Who else could it be? Sure as hell it isn’t his son. You were really into this stuff before you… So. Could you visit and help us out? The books and stuff are really valuable. They need to be moved before the son decides to set them on fire or something, when he learns they can't be moved by just anyone."

Stiles' curiosity got the best of him. "What does that mean, exactly, that they can't be moved?"

"That they can't be moved, literally. Some of the stuff, you can't get your hands on them, either you can't get a hold no matter how hard you try, or the stuff is stuck in place like it’s super glued. Some shit you can move, but when you finally get it outside, you'll notice that you only moved some garbage and not the real stuff you wanted.”

Scott let out a deep breath. “ _Magic._ " Said in that tone, it was a familiar curse word which Scott had taken to use in the last year Stiles had been around. 

Stiles couldn't help but grin at Scott's exasperation when it came to magic. "And he couldn't leave a will like normal people, could he?" 

"That would have been too easy. But, free magic stuff for you!”

Stiles admitted, he was tempted, even when he wasn’t into that stuff anymore. He’d had practically drooled after some of Deaton’s books, and trying to find something even close to them in the underground market later would be super expensive, if even possible. Also, the thought of the books being simply destroyed was intolerable to Stiles.

“So can you come? Or, you could be busy?" It came to Scott probably only now that Stiles might have obligations he wouldn't get out of, like a job. Maybe Stiles had a spouse he needed to talk with before deciding. Obligations, mouths to feed. Dogs to put through college. Or maybe it came to Scott that Stiles might not have enough money to fly there. 

Stiles paused. It wasn’t about if he could come back, but if he truly wanted to. Leaving, he had turned his back to magic and supernatural but also to his friends. 

Oh, what the hell. Maybe it was a time. "I think I can manage. Give me a couple of days to get my things in order, I'll email you my flight schedule."

They ended the call, and Stiles left his flat in thought. This was probably going to be a rough trip.

***

After all supernatural bullshit and blood and gore, after being possessed, it had been the old fashioned torture that had done it. They had threatened to skin him alive, and almost had done it, too. After that, Stiles had been fucking _done_.

***

When Stiles left, his dad had almost left with him. Yes, it had been that bad, that the simple thought of him waking up from a nightmare without his dad there made him anxious. But Stiles’ dad had a life in Beacon Hills, and Stiles knew that he’d would have to cut the cord eventually anyway. It had been scary, but eventually the best choice. 

Leaving his friends behind had been surprisingly easy at the time. Right after, at the hospital, his circle had started getting smaller. Stiles couldn’t even say if his friends had then started to give him a wider berth, or if it had been him who started to shun them. Either way, when it was his time to leave, there were only his dad and Scott to see him off. 

Stiles’ chosen new life had started with a stipend in a college, a medium level institution with a great track record for producing further careers in psychology and criminology. It was also conveniently a few thousand miles away from Beacon Hills, the pack, Derek, werewolves, death and all kinds of supernatural. Barely 18, he had missed his dad, but they had both agreed that a change of scenery would do Stiles good (to put it mildly).

But college life, starting anew, hadn’t been as easy as Stiles would have hoped. Being hung from his wrists for hours, barely conscious and waiting for his lungs to fill up and him to finally die by drowning; that was over. Done. Not to happen ever again.

What wasn't over, was everything that had come with it: His sleep difficulties, hyper vigilantism and feelings of depression, still coming and going like waves. You didn't know when or how high they'd hit, only that the hit was inevitable. But, whatever. What had happened was enough for Stiles to suffer some post traumatic fucking stress without feeling guilty about it.

Only afterwards they had found out the extent of the physical damage. When he was first brought in, the doctors had been more occupied with trying to keep him alive and saving his hands from _being amputated from wrists down_ , so then a little nerve damage here and there hadn't been the first thing in priority. 

Insurance vise, he would have had it better if he would’ve actually lost his hands. His dad’s family insurance had paid his original hospital stay and one explorative surgery afterwards, plus some hours of half-hearted physical therapy slapped on top of the deal after it came clear that even top-notch micro surgery might not correct the damage. 

Of course Stiles rather had his hands, even as they were now, than no hands and a lifelong insurance check. Personally Stiles thought that they were still pretty good hands. He could dress himself (as long as he kept clear from dress shirts with small buttons), hold a fork in a kids' grab and open his front door with his easy-grip key. So what if he couldn't carry groceries or use the oven or wank without toys, fine motoric movement was totally over appreciated anyway.

Counting out the barely visible scarring, his hands looked fine. He used wrist braces, but they were there mostly to remind him not to strain them. He could go periods without them. Stiles also refused to take pain medication daily, but only relied on them when pain made his movements too awkward. The slow entropy of his muscles on his lower arms only made his arms and wrists look more slender. 

Another thing that prevented people from noticing his fucked up hands was the everyday camouflage routine that Stiles had developed over time. Stiles was very good at smoothing things out and making his struggles with zippers, wallets, and other tasks needing fine motoric movements as unnoticeable as possible. He even went as far as hardly ever checking his phone or avoiding eating with utensils in public. When it came to pretending to be normal, Stiles was the master. 

The only thing that was truly shitty in having practically no grip power was that he couldn't hold a pen or write with a keyboard longer than a few halting minutes before the pain made him stop. And that had made studying hard. He'd received a stipend for college with a marking on his records about a partial disability, but his institution couldn't offer him real alternatives, like giving oral exams or taping the lectures. They could only give him extra time in regular exams. 

Combining his physical inability to produce text in any sensible time frame and the days when he felt too crappy to even get out of bed, he’d been constantly under a threat of his stipend being revoked. 

So, studying hadn’t been his thing at the time, and money being tight, he'd had to find a job as quickly as possible. He hadn’t any marketable skills, and almost all mundane jobs were out of his reach because of his hands. Stiles knew that his dad would have given him more money if he’d asked. His dad had been the biggest fan of him moving away from the _destructive influences_ (his dad's actual words), but Stiles hadn’t wanted to ask. His dad had been already supporting him with a small monthly allowance and asking more hadn’t felt right. 

One good thing had happened while he’d started his independent, dad and werewolf free life as a shitty student, though. Stiles had discovered sex. If he wasn't picky with who he had sex with, he could find plenty of people who weren't that picky, either. He liked it very much. Not only was it _sex,_ it was also something that could completely take his mind off from the shittier parts of his life. He got orgasms, he felt better about himself, and he slept better after. It was a win-win.

He’d also discovered that yes, he liked sex with both genders. What a surprise, only not really. And, that he not only liked sex, but that he was also very quickly very good at it. He even liked talking dirty, which might have been the one thing that pushed him into move towards where he was now.


	2. Chapter 2

"A phone sex worker."

"What?" Terrance, Stiles' friend from his psych study group (and a sometimes fuck buddy, but that had been only a few times) set his illegal beer bottle back on the small bar table to stare at Stiles. 

"A phone sex worker. I'm trying to come up with ideas for jobs to do if I'll have to drop out, and you know my hands. I'm good at talking, though."

"Yeah? You serious, or are you shitting me?" Terrance looked at him shifty.

"Serious, I guess. What, you thought that I would clutch my pearls at this point? Job is a job."

"Huh. Hmm..." Terrance was still staring at Stiles, obviously thinking, but Stiles continued.

"I wonder how they hire people. There probably is like a ton of personal ads in the last page of the wanted section, where all the seedy ads are. I could do it, I’m a person of no shame, and a high tolerance on bullshitting people."

Terrance looked like he'd made his decision. "Stiles, I think that I might be able to get you a connection to a gig that's something like that, my cousin works sometimes in that industry."

"What industry?" Then it dawned to Stiles. "You mean sex industry? Really?" 

"Yeah, my cousin maintains websites for one of the big ones or something."

Stiles had bought him a beer, and the next morning, remembered to ask the said cousin’s phone number. That had been the start of it.

***

It wasn’t phone sex. It was gay porn. Two weeks later Stiles had found himself in a perfectly respectable looking office with a comfortably cheap hipster atmosphere that only came from purchasing everything from an IKEA catalogue, sitting face to face with a gay porn producer who went with a name Barry. Yes, really. 

So far, so good. Yes, Stiles was serious, yes, he was a legal adult and the drivers’ license he’d shown in the front desk was real. Yes, he knew he looked younger that he actually was. And no, he hadn’t done this before, no, not even for fun. Yes, he still thought that he would be good. Why? Because he liked sex, he was a bit exhibitionist about it. Okay, a lot. 

"You definitely got the look for it.” Stiles had felt like Barry was rather thinking aloud than giving a compliment, so he’d kept quiet. 

“You didn't give your medical papers at the front desk." For a moment Stiles had felt insulted, because what the hell his medical condition was their business anyway, but then he’d got embarrassed when he’d understood why Barry had been asking.

“Apologies for that, I kinda thought that this would be only an interview, like, you would weed the crappy seeds out first.”

“You are right, we usually do it like that, but...” Barry the potential boss man had looked at him, appraising. 

“Okay, I don't do this often, but I would like to do a test shoot right away if you have the time. I'll shoot it myself, we'll see who's available as your partner. There will probably be a few other people around, too. You won't get paid for the shoot but we'll own the material anyway. You'll get compensated if we'll end up publishing it."

At that point Barry the Potential Boss Man had probably seen Stiles' eyes bugging out, which he’d interpreted wrong. "Don't get too excited, though. I haven't offered you a job, yet. We have plenty of folks trying to get in everyday, so don’t let this get into your head. And audition shoots almost never end up in distribution, not even online." 

Barry had opened the office door for him and they’d continued further down the floor, Barry filling him in as they went.

"You'll use condoms the whole time, and no swapping fluids of any kind, because you don't have your med papers. And we don't do bare back anyway unless it's a thing." 

Stiles had trotted behind the Boss Guy, his mind reeling. He had never ever been shot having sex, and now he had like two minutes to call it off before it would happen, just like that. 

"What are those?" 

Stiles had been shaken away from his thoughts by Barry’s question. Stiles followed Barry’s eyes looking down at his hands. Barry had seemed only now to have noticed Stiles' wrist braces. "If you are a cutter, you can walk out right now."

"No, no." Stiles had ripped the Velcro straps open to show his wrist, careful not to show in his face how much it cost him to make the moves look so care-free. Usually he used his teeth to help fasten and unfasten the braces. "I got some nerve damage. A car accident." (Tortured and left for dead.) He wiggled his fingers. "But they are pretty good now." (Another lie.) 

"Oh yeah? So you use them all the time?"

"When I'm not in bed." 

"Huh. Leave them off for now, but if this goes well, you might want to change them to something less medical looking, and keep them on. It never hurts to distinguish yourself from others, and I've never seen that one used."

"I'll do that." 

Stiles had been introduced to his scene partner Mike (“Really?” “No, not really.”) and asked to strip while Barry set the lights. Stiles had no problems being naked, but stripping he hadn't been comfortable with when other people were watching. Fortunately Mike had stripped his bathrobe at the same time and Stiles quickly had other things to think of.

_Oh wow._ This was going to be fun. He’d hoped. “I have never seen a dick that big this close, but I love my toys and there are some freaking huge ones, so bring it on.” The words had just cascaded out of his mouth, and he’d slapped a hand to cover his mouth, like he’d be able to physically stop his verbal diarrhea.

A few amused exclamations had bubbled up at that, but they had been quickly damped down because the production crew was supposed to keep quiet. 

“Sorry!”

Barry had been already behind the camera, filming. “No, say whatever. Do whatever. It's all good.”

Stiles had went straight to Mike and his dick, because why not. As Mike had already sat on the bed they were supposed to be shot at, Stiles had sat on his lap and then pushed the guy's chest to make his upper body fall on the bed and make some room for Stiles to explore. 

Stiles just hadn’t been able to keep his hands off from Mike’s dick. He’d wanted to lick it, hell, he’d wanted to see how much he’d be able to swallow, but there was the no-spit rule and giving a blowjob with a rubber just didn’t look sexy enough for his audition. 

Instead of what Stiles really wanted to do, he’d went on giving his partner the best hand treatment he could, his wrists be damned, and dipped his face down to lick Mike’s rather nice looking stomach and up to his nipples. That had made Mike to give an authentic sounding groan. _A nipple man, then? Maybe some teeth?_

Stiles’ own interest in bodies generally was lower than chest-high so he’d kept his interest in Mike’s nipples only for so long, stealing a light kiss for fun before ducking back and lower. 

Groaning and flustered, Mike had placed his hand on top of Stiles' hand that had been wrapped around his dick, trying to make him move it faster, but Stiles was having none of it. 

"Move your hips, lazy bitch, because the hand ain't moving." Mike had got it because right then he’d lifted his hips to meet the friction. With his other hand Stiles took a hold of Mike's ass cheek to encourage him further, and then he’d left his fingers snug in the cease between Mike's ass cheeks, guiding his now stuttering motions towards Stiles' hold. Stiles didn't explore the guy's ass further, because that would have been just impolite, but everybody enjoyed a little pressure there, starting right behind the balls, right? 

When Mike’s movement had grown urgent, Stiles had just grinned and tutted. “Hey, settle down boy, what about me? Give me a helping hand?” 

He’d let go of his hold, making Mike groan in frustration when his dick was suddenly left unattended. “Lube?”

Of course there was a tube of lube on the bed. A magical tube of lube that comes when summoned, Stiles had thought, and he hadn't been able to stop a giggle bubbling out. He’d sat on Mike’s legs and motioned Mike to offer his hands for lube.

The first time actually looking down at the lube, Stiles had cursed in his mind. It had been pure luck that the tube had an easy-open cap and not a screw cap, because fuck if he’d have that open when his hands were already strained. 

Stiles had squeezed the clear lubricant on Mike’s offered hands. The next time he’d have to remember to make his partner to do the cap screwing, ha.

“Okay? You gonna help me out?” Grinning, Stiles had moved further up Mike’s torso, settling his weight to his knees and offering his ass for Mike’s hands to explore. Mike had got the hint like a pro, spread Stiles cheeks and let a finger gently in.

“Yeah, nice. Deeper. More. Fuck. There. Okay, more.” This was good. Stiles had already completely forgotten to think about how this would look on film.

It hadn’t took long to get him ready. How much people could take and how much they felt enjoyable, that was purely a physical thing. And Stiles’ anatomy, he had learned, made him a total size queen.

“Okay, a rubber please.” Of course that, too, had found its way to the bed from nowhere. This time Stiles had known better and hadn’t offered help to put it on. Now, for him to lay his weight on knees or just on his heels, squatting down? This was porn so on heels it was. He’d reached to find a secure hold on the bedpost so he wouldn’t fall down, and then slowly lowered himself on Mike’s dick.

_Yes._ It’d felt just as delicious as he had thought it would be. Long, deep strokes, that’d felt better than any toy or drunk fumbling with his friends. Stiles had let his free hand to go to his own dick, feverishly wanking until he came. Fuck his hands being fucked after this. 

Stiles coming had been some kind of a mark for Mark, because he’d quickly took a hold of Stiles hips and easily manhandled him to a reverse position, Stiles laying down on his back. Mike had positioned himself again and kept going, Stiles still feeling the sparks. A moment later Mike had pulled out and urgently stripped off the condom, coming to Stiles’ stomach. Money shot, Stiles had thought, grinning again. It wouldn’t do to come inside a person, because how the viewer would then know that it was real? 

Stiles had drawn a breath. That had been fun, even when they had been filmed the whole time. Speaking of which… Stiles had glanced around him. No-one had moved, even when the scene was obviously over. Everybody had just kept staring at them, not talking.

“Um, weren't we supposed to go all the way, or something?”

“You could do whatever you liked. That was great, Stiles, thanks, Mike.” 

Barry talking again had revived the rest of the crew on the move, talking again, gathering stuff or just walking away. Mike had given him an approving smile with a “good job!” and went for his bathrobe. Could Stiles get a bathrobe, too, maybe?

“That was really great, Stiles. Really great. We might even use this, if it’s technically good enough.” Only then Barry had seemed to catch up his mouth. “But we’ll see.” 

Barry was a total professional, but he had been breathing through his mouth and he had a gleam in his eyes, Stiles had noticed. Had he scored points for actually getting the crew aroused? It had had to be a good sign.

“Is there a shower somewhere?” Now that all the stuff on was cooling down, Stiles had started to feel kinda icky. 

“Yes, that way.” Barry had pointed him a door, handing him a fluffy hotel-grade bathrobe. _Ha! He got one, too!_

After the shower Stiles had felt weird putting on his normal day clothes back, but otherwise he’d felt good. Barry had wandered to the room again and had walked Stiles back to his office.

“Okay, I don’t normally do this, but I’m the boss so what the hell. You are hired. That was some good stuff. You’ll bring me a clear medical and you can sign the papers the same time.”

“What? Really?” Stiles hadn’t known what to think, except exited. “I mean yes. That would be great.”

And that, as they say, had been that.

***

It wasn't difficult, Stiles’ new job. It was actually kind of fun, and Stiles was damn good at it. One thing of it was that being an adult with an ADHD, the constant buzz around him; cameras, the boom mic guy, the lightning crew, some guy nosing around the snacks table, they didn't bother or distract him at all. He didn't even try to shut them out like most did. Instead, he effortlessly took them all in and still found enough concentration to enjoy the sex. 

The only frustrating thing that came from his condition was his tendency to go completely off-rail with his dirty talk every now and then. One moment he would go with the "fuck me hard, big boy" (and even sounding actually, honest-to fuck _convincing_ ) and the next moment he would be wondering aloud which one of the Avengers Hawkeye and Black Widow would bring in for a threesome. 

Still, the crew tended to be good natured about it, especially when they usually ended up being able to use the footage anyway. After all, it wasn't the script that made people buy porn movies. There had been a few co-actors and better-than-thou directors that had given Stiles shit about it, but they usually didn't work that many time together after that. Barry the Boss had took him unofficially under his wing, making things easier for the newbie. 

Then, after Stiles got better known in the industry for gaining some good buzz among the audience (first as “the twink with the wrist wraps” and then simply “Stiles”), came a rather nice pay-check and perks like having a say in possible co-actors and production team. (He had also joined the union.) 

Dropping out of college had been the only really hard thing in his short porn career. Maybe later, he mused, he would be able to complete his education. But now he had the time and money to keep his stress symptoms at bay with less work stress, regular exercise and a strict sleep schedule. 

Stiles had one or two long ass shooting days in a week, plus photo sessions, promo, some meetings and paper work. Add a few dinners or nightclub parties to make nice with people the production company wanted on their good side (Stiles still couldn't believe how much people wanted to meet or present to their friends _actual porn stars_ ), and his week was done. Not a bad job for a guy with fucked up hands, no further education, ADHD, PTSD and a couple of other letters. 

And the best thing was that Stiles was no longer scared. He was fucking done being scared for the rest of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles sighed. There was still a half an hour’s time before the landing, but he’d already started to brace himself. He raked his hands through his mussed hair and then as an unconscious move slipped his hands back to his lap where they were out of sight. 

The discomfort that he felt flying was starting to wear him out. The seat wasn’t kind to his body and a few seats to his right a middle aged man kept stealing glances at him. At least the guy hadn’t come to chat with him or tried to get a moment with Stiles alone, so that was good. Bless his wife and the two kids who travelled with him. 

On hindsight, he should have just splurged for a first class ticket. It wasn't a problem for him to purchase plane tickets in a moment’s notice, but, maybe out of habit, he still counted pennies when it came to things he wanted but didn’t necessarily need.

Stiles had, for the first time in his life, a little more money than what he needed to be able to live comfortably. He had a nice studio apartment, a savings account, a few years old car mostly gathering dust, Maria to ensure that he had a clean flat and clothes, a fridge full of organic food and as much physical therapy as he wanted.

His job paid well, but he knew better than count on his luck and career to last. But the now-secure position came with the luxury of being able to choose between money and his willingness to work. Or maybe willingness wasn't the right word for it, since nowadays he never accepted a gig that he felt that he might end up doing even slightly unwillingly. (He’d never been asked to explore the truly kinky area of the industry, but Stiles had his own quirks. The whole crew had been shaken after he flipped when his shooting partner had unexpectedly grabbed his wrists to hold him down.) It was more about him being able to choose the amount of work and who he worked with. 

When the seatbelt light blinked, Stiles gathered his flight entertainment; iPad and a tattered Sudoku book, to his bag. He pinched the familiar LV-zipper pull between his fingers to get a grab powerful enough to work the bag closed. 

He took a second look at his bag. Huh, it might not have been the best idea to come here lugging a Luis Vuitton? Before this is hadn’t come to his mind to think details like that. The bag had been a gift, an extra to sweeten the deal from a promoter who had _really_ wanted him to make an appearance. Now that he thought of it, the D &G sunglasses in the bag were also a gift. Huh. But his dad and Scott wouldn’t notice or care about these things, so it wasn’t bad.

Stiles would be the first to admit that he had developed some healthy greed, aiming to gather as much money as possible for financing his future ventures, but he had worked with himself to find a level he felt comfortable with. Yes, he had been offered movie and promotion gigs with huge compensations that he had turned down, for one reason or another. Yes, he'd taken offers with a modest pay just for the gig's sake. But he had learned to also be a businessman, even if he had done it the hard way. When a fan mail leads you to find out that your movies were sold in Russia without you getting a dime, or when no-one told you the next scene was supposed to be bare backing with some dude with a two months old VD results paper, or when your co-actor without a warning _took a hold of your wrists_ , you'll either learn or burn out. Stiles had refused to burn out. Been there, done that. 

Coming out of the plane and walking to the arrivals felt a bit surreal. Stiles hadn’t been in Beacon Hills for over four years. He didn’t know what to expect. It was still a good long drive to the city, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious.

“Hello, son.”

Stiles felt nothing but joy when he saw his father waiting him in the arrivals.  
  
“Hi dad. You look good.” He greeted his dad with a full body hug. He was allowed to do it, so a huge hug it was. 

“You look good, too. Am I allowed to say that?” With an effortless move his dad deliberated Stiles from all his luggage.  
  
“Of course. And thanks for the lift, I know it’s a middle of the day and all.”

“My pleasure. I’m a sheriff, I can change my shifts if I want to.”

Asking his dad to come and get him had been a purely practical decision. He could have rented a car, but no way could he drive the hour it took from the nearest airport to Beacon Hills, after suffering through the flight. He could have asked Scott to pick him up, but he’d rather saw his dad first. It was already jarring to even be here, and his dad knew to keep calm and cool about it. 

They walked to the car, his dad asking about his current projects (in a roundabout way which let Stiles answer without getting into details) and his plans during his visit. 

His dad had known about the werewolves and had a reluctant inkling on other supernatural, and he’d known everything at the end, from pack wars to Deaton’s position. Grilling Scott (who was still unconsciously looking for any father figure) and Derek (who’d perfected the art of feeling guilty) at the hospital while Stiles’ had been treated for torture-induced trauma had thought him everything the Sheriff had needed to know. 

Now, about Stiles’ adult entertainment career, and being bi? After one learns about demons being real and gets his son back after he’d been tortured just for being a human, one doesn’t feel very judgmental about little things like that.

At the beginning, Stiles had thought about keeping his new career a secret from his dad, (it wasn’t like his dad would have accidentally bumped to his videos), but had eventually decided to be truthful. He had so little people truly supporting him nowadays, and even though he’d been lying through his teeth for a long time after Stiles first discovered the supernatural, now he wanted to be straight with his dad on all things. Also, weaving convincing enough a web of lies would have taken more effort that what he’d been capable of at the time. Truth was so much easier to keep up with.

The house looked exactly the same. Stiles called to Scott to tell that he’d arrived safely. He invited Scott to visit later that night, decidedly not saying anything when Scott asked him if he’d like meet the whole pack at Derek’s instead. So his dad house it was. 

The Sheriff went back to work after he’d seen that Stiles had settled down. Of course his dad hadn’t really done anything to his old room. His teenage stuff, posters, models and now outdated tech was gone, stuffed in cardboard boxes and dumped to the attic. The furniture was the same, though, as his dad had never been big on interior decorating and he didn’t have any new use for Stiles’ old room in mind. So it was a guestroom, for all this time meant for one guest only: Stiles. Stiles even thought that he recognized the sheets.

The books that Stiles had left behind were still on the shelf. Stiles ran his finger on them, stopping for the few magical books that he’d gotten from Deaton way back when. When he’d left, he’d left pretty much all of his life behind, including the magic books and his own bestiary data base that he’d been writing when things went to shit. 

He wanted to see Deaton’s belongings. Now that he knew what was waiting, he knew that the books and other things were waiting for him. It was just a feeling but it had gotten stronger after he had arrived to Beacon Hills.

Stiles went back to downstairs for a snack and used that for a reason to inspect his dad’s cupboards. Whole wheat, fruits, no junk food sans some weird brand cookies which probably had been bought from a workmate’s school fundraising or something. Good.

It was weird to meet his dad here, in the old house. Stiles’ dad visited him, but it has always been like that, his dad coming to Stiles and in Stiles’ terms. They got along fine, actually much better now that Stiles wasn’t a teenager, then practically living a double life and keeping secrets from his father. 

Even when Stiles career as a porn star was way back down there in a scale of things that matter, his dad hadn’t been particularly happy about it, especially in the beginning. Still, his answer to Stiles’ awkward confession on the phone had been immediately supportive. “I said that you can do whatever you want to do, as long as it’s legal, and I stand by it. So, keep safe and at least try to know what you’re doing, okay?” And Stiles had thanked him, and tried, and learned. And now he really knew what he was doing. He was a freaking professional. 

After a snack and a nap Stiles showered and changed for meeting Scott. What should he wear? Stiles chuckled as he caught himself asking that because what did it matter. It was Scott he was meeting. 

Stiles knew that he, objectively, looked pretty good nowadays. He would never be the every boys’ and girls’ wet dream like some people he knew, but for his professional purposes he was just what was ordered. He was lanky and whip thin, but broad shouldered enough to look masculine. He’d sweat bullets to rehabilitate his hands to look pretty normal. Doing nothing, his palms would have curled up to a claw-like position already. His fans appreciated his body, the now widely recognized wrist braces and all. (The car accident story was still in his bio, although he had told the truth, sans the demons, to Barry.) Also, he still looked younger than what he actually was.

Meeting Scott, to Stiles’ relief, wasn’t at all awkward. Scott was just the same, studying to become a veterinary technician and working at Deaton’s old clinic under a new owner. He still lived at home because he and Kira had decided that relatively care-free dating and studying was better than living together dirt-poor, especially when they were both still very much aboard in Derek’s pack business. 

After their regular greetings came a quiet moment. Scott seemed like he was going to burst, but didn’t say anything.

“Go ahead,” Stiles urged. This should be entertaining.

"Dude, I have to say: When did you become a porn star? How?”

"So you know about it?” Scott looked at him, so eager and earnest. No judgment coming from that direction, ever. 

“Of course you know about it. It's a long story. Well, not that long, really, but I’ll tell it another time. So where did you hear about what I do nowadays? I don’t think that you’d belong to my target demographic.”

“Actually I looked up your twitter. You have plenty of… Very enthusiastic followers.”

"Yup." While he kept his Facebook tightly locked, he had thousands of Twitter followers. Whenever he felt bored, he could always engage them in discussions that were then enthusiastically copied in fan forums.

Hmm. Speaking of which… "You didn't google me, dude?"

"I did! Scott sounded scandalized. "Wow, was that a surprise!"

"Rule number one: never google yourself, right?" Stiles couldn't help but smirk, thinking Scott at his computer, physically shielding his eyes from what he saw on the screen. Hopefully Scott had had some not-safe-for-work filter on the first time he did a picture search. "But it is interesting, is it? Go ahead, ask me anything."

"You have fans? Do you visit events to advertise your movies? And people will ask your signature and stuff?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. And how would know about the expos?"

“Um, I saw a documentary about it once. That there are actually fans, and they travel to meet their favorite actors and give them gifts and stuff."

"Pretty much, yes. It comes with the contract when actors work for one studio only. You have to advertise your stuff. But I haven't been only in the studio's booth, I've been also invited to panels and stuff." 

Scott probably had no idea how big a difference it was between being a part of the official program and being "a booth slut", advertising your movies on the floor. Of course Stiles did that, too, because it was everyone's duty to make floor rounds, and because there were people who actually had come to see him. He had _fans._ Never mind that the fans were also unapologetic major consumers of porn, fannish behavior was fannish behavior and it was kind of cute, even when it sometimes came with sex offers (yeah, right) invitations to drink the fan's pee (yuk) or in one incidence, a jar of collected bodily fluids (just no). 

Scott didn’t look like he’d be completely sold, though. “I have a total respect for you and your job, but… What if you wouldn't want to do it, have sex with someone?"

“Scott, it’s my job. No-one is holding a gun on my head. And you know, sex is like pizza: even when it's bad, it's still pizza, and pizza is good."

"No I meant, sex with certain someone. What if you don't like him?”

Stiles was now a bit lost on what Scott was after. "Define _like_ , dude. Scott, I don't have to _like them_ like them to have sex with people. Though if there wouldn’t be even one singular like it would make the breaks really awkward. Also I have a say on the casting sometimes.”

"So you would just... make yourself to do it?"

Oh boy, was Scott actually _worried about him?_ "Hey, if I really wouldn't want to do it, I would just say it and that would be it. Before the shoot, even during the shoot, any participant can end it." Stiles had ended a scene during a shoot a couple of times. It was a part of the industry that everyone accepted: Sometimes things were miscommunicated and mistakes were made. Those making mistakes with Stiles, though, never got a repeated performance. 

"I do this totally voluntarily, you know. I'm good at it, my fucked up fingers won't matter and it's pretty good money now. Sure it won't last forever but I’m not counting it to.” 

Stiles was relieved when Scott seemed to be satisfied with his assurances and believe that Stiles was comfortable with his profession. Stiles had his doubts about Beacon Hills in general, though. Never before had he been “out” about his profession in a small town, or with what he had come to call “regular” people. He had tasted the other side, too, sometimes visiting a wrong kind of a health clinic and being treated like a whore, or when a new friend disappeared after learning what he did, or when fundies picketed the porn industry events. 

"So... Are you like, dating anyone?"

Where had that come from? “I have friends with who I have sex with, does that count?"

"Uh." Stiles sensed that it wasn't his blunt answer that got Scott quiet. Rather, it was that yes, Stiles had friends, friends that Scott didn't know and had never met. Stiles had a life that Scott had never really seen, either. "I don't know, does it?"

"I guess not."

“So, when you are meeting Derek?”

_Subtle, Scott, really subtle._ “Tomorrow, maybe? I think that we’d supposed to all meet before visiting Deaton’s house. And Scott?”

“Yeah?” Scott was still trying nonchalant, failing miserably.

“Nice try, Scott.”

Derek. The attraction had been there before, but Stiles had been a kid then. Maybe it could have worked, but... Nah. When their age difference didn't seem like much now, then, when Stiles had been sixteen or seventeen, it had been huge. And on hindsight, it was easy to see that Derek had had some not-so-nice experiences when he’d been younger, the age difference falling to just that range, just him being the younger one in the equation. 

Stiles refused to hope anything this time around. He had turned his back to this life years ago, including a potential for something… Just something. But there had been something between them, and fuck if Stiles would pretend otherwise.

Stiles’ dad came home and Scott took to leave, confirming the meeting time the next day. Derek’s pack had now people that Stiles had never met, and though they technically never had been a part of the pack as wolves, Lydia and Danny had left big holes in the hierarchy when they had moved away to study greater things. There would be Scott, Isaac, possibly Malia, and a new dude, a new dude and a new dude. And, of course, Derek.

His dad raised an eyebrow for a silent question. He knew that Stiles hadn’t met his friends as a pack after his hospital stay, only one at the time. 

“I’m alright, dad. I wanted to come.”


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles changed to his sleepwear and tried to relax, doing some exercises to prevent his hands from cramping up from all the tension that he had subjected his poor limbs to during the day. Usually his routines helped to both relax his body and ease his mind for sleep. Stiles had become a person of discipline and hell, why not. He liked himself better when there were demands that he could trust himself to fulfill.

Tonight, though, he felt himself grow tenser. Maybe some extra stretches, or even a few meditation exercises would let him to relax and silence his thoughts? 

Stiles heard his own heartbeat in his ears, beating too fast. Only a moment later it was hard to even breathe. It felt like he couldn't move, couldn't make a sound.

_Fuck, a panic attack._ He hadn't had one in a long time, Stiles had even convinced himself that he was currently free of them. Not so, obviously. Being back in this town and in this room had kicked it in full gear when he had finally let his guard down. 

_Fuck fuck fuck._ Stiles knew in an intellectual level that he wasn't in danger, it only felt like he was in a verge of dying. He counted seconds and minutes to distract himself and make his mind to focus at least something. He wouldn’t upset his dad for nothing. He would get through this by himself, he knew it. 

A few minutes later Stiles could feel the pressure and the feeling of panic recede a tiny amount. _That's the way, keep going_ he cheered himself. He made himself to draw a deep breath. It was going to be okay. His hands hurt like a bitch now because he’d squeezed them to fists, but it was okay. It was something to concentrate to. 

It took him a longer time to settle down to sleep, but still he felt a bit proud of himself. He’d handled his attack by himself and without meds. He still carried them along with his Adderal, but they were more for assurance than for anything else.

Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, I’m going to be a strong one.

***

Stiles’ dad had already left to work when Stiles came down. He felt like he was breaking some father-son rule by lingering, the ghosts of maybe hundreds of slept-in Saturdays and Sundays and his dad’s disapproval of the wasted time still in his subconscious. But that’s what you got when you grew up to adulthood without visiting: you met your old kid self in strange places. 

Stiles carried his laptop back downstairs, made himself coffee, grabbed a piece of cheese as a protein snack, and settled to read his mails. 

He’d received plenty of comments on his posts about soft porn that he’d posted in a locked community for erotic entertainment industry. (Did soft core viewers prefer to see soft stuff, or did they want hard core but were unable to get their hands on it?) He also had a request for a movie gig (he’d probably take it) and an invitation to a friend’s kid’s christening (aaw).

Finally, showered, dressed, nourished and caffeinated, he had no longer reasons to stall. Stiles called to Scott to pick him up, because hey, no car. 

On their way to Derek’s house Stiles felt his anxiety rise. (“No Kira?” Kira was working on that Saturday, or maybe she hadn’t wanted to come and Scott was lying to him. Kira was free to do what she wanted, but it might have helped to see a one more familiar face.) 

He sniffed, looking out of the window and trying to gather himself. He was an adult, head done well, he refused to be ashamed of anything, and he’d come back to Beacon Hills from the big world to do them all a favor, so why was he so anxious? There hadn’t been anything left unsaid between Derek and him when he left, Stiles knew. Thought. Wanted really hard. Whatever. 

He would meet Derek. Why had he let Scott drive? If it was him, he could have just turned around and be done with it. This was, honestly, nerve wrecking. And no-one liked Stiles when he was in his last nerve. Even Stiles didn't like Stiles when he was in his last nerve. One time, when he had been going through a particularly rough patch (for no reason! That's what Stiles hated in PTSD: the rough times came and went without _particular reason or order._ ), someone had innocently asked what Stiles' mother thought about his profession and Stiles had smashed his hand to the guy's face. Stiles' hands were probably as dangerous as a sock filled with oatmeal when it came to fist fighting, and it was the guy who ended up being purposefully sorry when he remembered about Stiles mom situation, but it was the principle of the thing. 

Oh, fuck it. He was not freaking afraid of facing Derek, was he? They weren’t freaking enemies. Lovers, neither.

Derek’s new house was built almost side by side with the old one. Stiles had somehow thought that it would be a big mansion-like house where the pack would live, but it was just a house. A nice, regular one, that looked like it would be inhabited by regular persons, just ones who didn’t believe in gardening, or lawns, or asphalt.

“Here we are.” Scott sounded earnest, like he would really want Stiles to approve the house. Which was weird because why would it matter.

Stiles noticed something flash by the windows. The pack, or possibly Derek, had been waiting for them by the window? It felt quite comical to Stiles. 

“Stiles!” Isaac almost ran to him from the porch, unapologetically sweeping him for a hug. “You look good, wow, you are really here!” 

Stiles couldn’t help but smile at Isaac’s enthusiasm. It looked like Isaac had grown out of his nervous gestures and apologetic nature. He had always been tall, fit and gorgeous, but his confidence made it look that much better. Stiles had heard from Scott that Isaac was now an entrepreneur, developing and installing security and access control systems, something like that. 

“Hey man,” Stiles greeted Isaac while his face was still mushed against the other man’s neck. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

They stayed like that a couple of seconds longer, and then let go. The air felt easy between them, like Stiles would never had been gone. It came to Stiles that it might not have been Isaac’s decision to not contact him. Isaac appreciated friendships high, but even more than that he respected pack loyalty.

“Want to come in?” 

They went to the door. “Oh, I don’t live here,” Isaac continued. “But someone’s got to greet you properly, and you know Derek.” Pause. “Not that he wouldn’t be happy to see you, because he is. Happy.”

Stiles got it. Derek was still his anti-social self, making others to do the work of being a human being to others. Yay for the old things staying the same. 

They continued through the house and to the kitchen, where the rest of Derek’s pack was drinking coffee. (Where they had fled from their stalking positions by the windows and were now acting oh so casual, Stiles totally had their number.)

The new pack put down their hilariously domestic matching set of coffee mugs and held back. Besides Isaac, there were four boys and two girls. Apparently Derek had kept his habit of recruiting teenagers, as Stiles wouldn’t have guessed any of them being over twenty-one. Even without Scott and Kira, it was a larger pack that there had ever been in Stiles’ time.

Isaac introduced the new pack, ever the polite host. Anna, Olivia, Marcus. Henry, Kenneth, Alex, Bailey. Stiles greeted them, but their names ran away from him like a water off duck’s back. He tried to care, he truly did, but any of this new information didn’t truly stick. Stiles noticed that he wasn’t particularly interested in the new house, either. It was probably the doings of some pretty significant defenses working in the back of Stiles’ mind, making sure that he wouldn’t find any new things in here to get emotionally attached. He was still done with this place. 

The new pack members watched him in a way that made Stiles curious to know what exactly had they been told about him. It was like he was “the Stiles” instead of some human dude who had hung out with the pack a few years ago, who’d tried it out with magic but then burned down in a total shit storm of a pack war revenge spree, and left for good. It wasn’t even a porn thing, Stiles was sure. He couldn’t quite get it why the kids were looking at him with a strange combination of awe, fear and “pet the bunny” want. At least it wasn’t creepy stalker want, but rather cute, even. 

“Oh, hi, Derek.” Isaac tried to sound like he’d just noticed Derek to enter the kitchen doorway, which of course was total bullshit. 

Stiles looked from Isaac to Derek to Scott. Isaac and Scott seemed both super anxious, while trying to look nonchalant. To Stiles’ amusement, they looked like parents who _really_ wanted their kids to get along, when the said proverbial kids had just previously tried to kick each other in the nuts or something.

“Hi.” Derek’s tone was a clear dismissal and everyone still in the kitchen made a hasty retreat to... outside? Stiles had almost forgotten the wolf hearing, of course just retreating to the living room wouldn’t been enough if they really wanted to give them the privacy. 

Derek looked good, almost the same as what Stiles had remembered. No change in his attitude either, it seemed. Stiles knew that he gave out more of an adult air himself, but a change to a late twenty something to an early thirty something didn’t show that much, especially on a werewolf. 

“Doing pretty good then?” Stiles gestured the house. “New pack, new house, new... what was it that you do for a living, again? 

Derek took a step towards Stiles. “I’m a forest owner.”

“What, really?” Who was Stiles kidding, Derek looked as handsome as ever. 

“Really. What did you think I meant the first time we met, when I said that it was a private property?” 

“That you meant only the land where your house was? But never mind that.”

“You okay?” Such an inane, but still truly honest question. 

“I am, actually.” For a moment Stiles was amazed even by himself. He was okay. Sure, he was still suffering effects from what had happened, and it was still fucking unfair, but now he was okay, he was dealing. Those who had hurt him were all dead. Any additional closure he’d possibly been left waiting for was done and gone. So he was okay. Wow. 

Derek just stood there, looking frustrated. Yep, still the master conversationalist that Stiles remembered.

“Yeah.” Okay, if Stiles was waiting for Derek to man up and get into something, he might as well walk out and go home right then.

“So, everyone seems to think that we had something going on that was left undone when I left. So, what you think? A, there never wasn’t anything and now there still isn’t and everyone can just go home, B, that there definitely was something cooking between us but it was a long time ago and doesn’t apply to current time, or C, there was something then and there is something now and one or both would very much to continue whatever now that I’m here and also legal.” 

For a moment they just stood there facing each other, both equally astonished by Stiles verbal diarrhea. Stiles finally just raised his brow to dare Derek to answer.

“Um. C. and hopefully both.” 

Holy fuck. “Really? That’s... wow. And both, yeah, so me too.” 

Derek seemed to have used his relationship-related social skills for the day, so he just stood there, looking sort of happy and sort of constipated at the same time. Stiles closed the gap between them and looked straight at him, then continuing forward for a kiss, hands still hanging down without toughing. 

It was a short, powerful and devouring kiss that Stiles felt settled them as equals. Trust a werewolf to settle these things without actual words, huh. 

They both pulled back from the kiss but Derek continued to bury his face to Stiles neck. 

Stiles patted Derek’s back somewhat awkwardly. “Mmm that feels nice, truly, really, but none of that marking stuff, okay?” Derek didn’t make a move to retreat, he was seemingly happy licking, sniffing and occasionally nibbling. 

“Hey, quit it!” Derek lifted his head, face again shut. Oh fuck, what now, Stiles only had the time to think while Derek was already turning to go. 

Stiles grabbed his hand and after making sure that Derek halted and wouldn’t bolt, he took Derek’s face between his hands and looked straight at him. “Fuck. Hey, you don’t get to do that, reading my words as you like and then bolt. When I said quit it, I meant that you have to quit marking my neck, not that you should leave. Listen to my heartbeat when I’m saying it. I don’t want you to leave.” 

For a moment Derek just looked at him, clearly listening to Stiles’ heart, but then nodded and let his head slip from Stiles’ hands. “Okay. Sorry about the... Thing.”

“We’re cool.” _For now._ Possibly. Maybe. It was going to be okay. And also wow, holy shit he had kissed Derek. So they obviously had some problems to work out, but two neurotic guys had to be better than one? Stiles let a sight of a relief and then with a small smirk turned towards the front door, calling the pack back in from where they pretended not trying to eavesdrop.


	5. Chapter 5

Scott, Stiles, Derek, Isaac and the new kids packed themselves in cars and drove to Deaton’s old house. Scott had the key and they had the weekend or maybe till Monday to get the place cleared before the hired professional cleaners would really clean it up.

In his workplace Deaton had always kept only a small portion of books and supplies that went with him being a druid. It was his home and especially the cellar where he had kept a small library worth of books and other paraphernalia. He had seldom invited visitors to see his lair of knowledge, even Stiles had visited maybe a dozen times before he fled. 

Stiles hesitated before entering the underground floor in the house. “So we just try to move the stuff again?”

“That’s the plan. Maybe it works when there is a magical person around this time.” Bless Scott, always ready to try the simplest solution first and only after that trying to figure out something more complicated. 

Still, Stiles almost raised his voice about the magical thing, because he hadn't really done anything for years, but then just left it alone. Maybe there still was something. Still, one’s presence only wouldn't probably do jack shit, Stiles thought. But maybe the books were open to some negotiation, in a way.

Stiles came down to the cellar stairs last, his hands unconsciously curling up when he let go of the rail. 

_Hello, Deaton’s books,_ Stiles thought, and then almost laughed out loud. Had he just greeted Deaton’s old shit? 

He walked around, touching the books and artifacts hesitantly as he went. It brought calm over him. I felt crazy but it was almost like the stuff greeted him after a long time. With some of the basic stuff, he must have touched them during his visits when he had started to learn more about the craft. Most of it, though, he had never touched and maybe never even shared space with. But still this all felt familiar.

Feeling the slight magic around him felt better than he’d have thought. He’d never abandoned magic per se, he’d had left the whole life behind because he’d had to. 

_Hello, books,_ he thought again. _Hello…_ Maybe his first reaction had been right? He’d greeted the books as a gut reaction.

“Um.” He took a few steps back and forward, standing roughly in the middle of the room, and took in all in. Isaac was leafing through a box of loose papers. Scot was trying to move a box by sliding it towards the stairs, without much success. Derek was just standing at the doorway, looking like he was trying to solve the problem with a pure power of will. 

Okay, here it goes, Stiles thought, and then said, “I greet you, Druid Deaton’s belongings.”

The others then turned to watch what he was doing, but none of them raised their voice to question him. On the contrary, they stopped what they were doing and concentrated on what was happening before them. 

Stiles continued. “My name is Stiles, and I was supposed to be Deaton’s student, at a time.” 

The whole cellar felt eerily quiet.

“Um, anyway, unfortunately I have to inform you that Deaton has passed away. Which you might have already known, of course.” 

Stiles looked around again, hoping for a response. Nothing. Not even a random paper rustling. “And that’s sad, and I totally understand that you didn’t want to just get carried away, but there is no more master for you to wait.” 

Still nothing. “So I’m asking if you’d want to go with me. Deaton trusted me to take you in.” Technically that was not true, but it was worth a try. 

Right. Back to work then, Stiles thought and grabbed a random box. 

“Dude!”

“What?!” Stiles asked, distraught by his earlier book-whisperer-nonsense, but quickly reacting to Scott’s exclamation. Only then he noticed that his friend was actually already up the stairs and on his way to outside the house. Scott had turned and Stiles could see that he was holding a similar kind of box, grinning and gesturing as wildly one could with a box in one’s hands.

“You totally did it! Are we stupid or what, it came to none of us that the books deserved to be told that Deaton was dead, and asked if they wanted to be moved. We just grabbed them. Of course they thought that we were trying to steal them away or something!” Trust Scott to also willfully accept even the wildest ideas without questioning. 

***

Now that Stiles had the books in his room, in his dad’s house, he couldn't seem to get enough of them. It felt right, sitting on the floor and indulging himself yet another box full of something that he hadn't know he’d missed as much as he had. 

After the books and papers had allowed themselves to be moved, it had been a simple matter of carrying them straight to their cars. Some of the pack had clearly had hopes for staying in the house to celebrate their “victory”, but Stiles had thanked and dismissed them to dive straight back to greet his new books. 

He had felt that in his life there was still something missing, and he’d thought hard about different paths of studying or working he could pursue alongside his entertainment career. So maybe this was it. Maybe he could pick up where his training had ended abruptly. There had to be books about the basics, too. Maybe he could teach himself, or find a mentor.

But wasn't he supposed to be over all this? As he’d so many times said, _done?_ Would this open wounds anew, maybe make his flashbacks and anxiety worse? 

But stiles refused to close the book on his lap. No, he was healed enough. He was strong. He was so fucking strong that he could open this door again if he wanted.

****

It was already a night time when Stiles finally put the books down and gathered himself from the floor. 

“You can come in, you know.” 

Derek came to the window, where he had loomed on the roof for who knows how long. “I should have saved you.”

Stiles had to take a moment. “What?” Seriously, _what?_

“It was my fault that you got into this in the first place, and I should have known how strong the Marauder pack was.”

“Dude, you saved me, remember?”

Derek finally stepped into Stiles’ room. “I should have saved you sooner. I should have stopped it from happening in the first place.” 

“Soo.. That's the reason you stayed away afterwards? Because you felt guilty?” Stiles wouldn't get mad, because that could lead to anxiety, and a bunch of no good things.

“What the fuck is wrong with you anyway, if you felt so guilty, why didn't you try to make things right, make up for it, instead of giving up from the start?”

Derek managed to look both guilty and stubborn. “In the hospital, you said that you didn't want to see me.”

Oh, to the hell with the not getting mad. “So you stayed away, for FOUR YEARS? It didn't come to your mind that I was in pain and didn't want to see fucking anyone?!”

“It wasn't that simple.”

“So explain it to me, then! Man, your self-punishing ways makes you look like a wet blanket. Because your stupid masochism you just cut all ties like that?”

Derek didn't waver. "Maybe it wasn't just misunderstanding you telling me to get out that one time. I thought that it was better for you to get away from this. The way things were going, you would have died the next time, or the next. And there would have been a next time if you'd have stayed, for sure." 

That sobered Stiles up. "You can't know that for sure." Yeah, it had been the path the shit was heading, then, Allison being the first victim to shock them out of believing that they were invulnerable, but Derek straight saying that staying would have eventually lead to Stiles' death was wrong. It had to be.

But Derek wasn’t done, “Maybe I also felt so guilty that I had to punish myself that worst way I knew how."

“What was what? By cutting all ties with me? That was your punishment for yourself?”

Derek looked straight at him. “The worst I knew.” 

Huh. So getting himself tortured, thus making Derek guilty and hence driving himself away from Stiles, Stiles had also managed to… what? Break Derek’s heart?

“So, okay.” Stiles had to gather up his thoughts some more. “So you think you have punished yourself enough?”

Derek nodded, all serious, which somehow made a laugh bubble deep inside Stiles. 

“And you think that my being here now won’t statistically lead to my death any time soon?”

Another nod, now an enthusiastic one.

“So how about we continue from that kiss earlier?” Stiles barely had the time to finish his sentence before Derek was already on him. 

“Just remember that afterwards, you can’t blame an accident or anything. I’m not saying that this is just sex between friends – are we even friends? –, and I’m not saying that this would be a confession or commitment or shit like that, but don’t you dare to pretend tomorrow that it was a mistake or deny that it happened, okay? Are we clear on this?” 

“Yes, yes, no take backs afterwards.”

“And you know that I do sex on camera for a living, and have no intention to stop?” That came already breathless, but Stiles couldn't seem to be able to stop.

“Yeah yeah.”

“And that marking and scenting thing, that’s okay.”

“Would you shut up already?”

Stiles did. 

Sex with Derek was awesome, and Stiles had had some truly awesome sex to compare it with. Derek drove him on the edge, and kept him there longer than Stiles thought could be possible, and it felt hurt so good. It felt real, with sweat and hands bunching up the old frayed sheets. Stiles didn't have to talk dirty, or think what looked good, only to what felt good. When they had to pause for Stiles to rummage his bag for condoms and lube, Derek only laughed. It was good. Still, Stiles knew that good sex seldom solved non-sex things.

They laid on the sweat-damp sheets together. Derek had stayed after without neither of them asking if it was okay. 

Now that he had Derek relaxed and probably slow to run away, him being naked and all, Stiles thought, now might be a good place to continue to solve those non-sex things. “Just so you know. When I left, it wasn't about you, or feeling that you had deserted me or whatever the fuck you thought you were doing, do you understand? We weren’t _we_ at the time. Whatever.” 

Stiles paused. Derek was listening. “But the point is that it was something that I had to do. I was just too burnt out. You can’t expect a regular person to resurrect werewolves with open chest heart massage on Monday, almost getting sacrificed on Tuesday, see a man murdered on Wednesday and being tortured on Thursday without something breaking. And it was me. I broke down. You couldn't have saved me. I had to leave.”

“So you would have left even if I’d ask you to stay with me?”

“Yep. Though it was a dick move to stay away, and keep the pack away. I’m not saying that you wouldn't have been part of the problem of my _week being full of horrors._ In a way you were partially right, you were a part of the toxic environment.”

“Okay.”

“But if you would have _said something_ instead keeping away and thinking that me leaving was a some kind of especially-for-you answer to a question that you didn’t even ask, I might have returned sooner.” 

“But-!” 

“Communication, Derek. It’s a great skill. Learn to use it.” 

***

In the morning things were looking quite complicated again. Stiles dad was making breakfast downstairs, probably making exaggerated noise to let them know he was up, and Derek had fallen to be his quiet sulky self again. 

“So, this? This isn't an awkward moment, because I say so." This was scary, but Stiles was done being scared.

Derek stared at him quiet.

“So in the light of a new day, was this a one-time only, It-was-nice-but-let's-not-make-a-big-deal-out-of-it -thing? Or you want to try and make something out of it?” 

Stiles wrists hurt, the floor was full of scattered books and the room smelled funky. And in two seconds time, Stiles would turn pissed. “And think before you answer, blurting the first thing that comes to your head might not be the wisest one in the long run.”

“I... I want to try and make something out of it?” Even Derek seemed to be surprised by his answer.

"Huh. Okay. That's honest, I think."

Stiles had demanded a response from Derek, but now he seemed to be lost in words. He’d demanded promises from Derek, but had forgotten to think that he’d have to make decisions, too. Derek looked at him, waiting for him to talk.

Stiles turned to his back and faced the ceiling, gathering a pillow to better support his neck. "I don't think that I want to return to Beacon Hills. There is too much baggage."

Stiles heard a sharp breath drawn in from Derek, but he remained silent.  
"I have a life elsewhere, I built it and I'm not giving it up. But..." It felt like Derek had stopped breathing altogether. "But if you would want to visit me there, or maybe scout the area for some new opportunities, my couch is free. Bed, too. So no demands and no commitments, except that I’m a one-guy guy so there won’t be any others in my bed while you are away." 

Derek just looked at him.

“I meant my own bed! I’m not planning on giving up my profession any time soon, just for you know. So I’m not taking any possessive shit from you. I know the difference between work and a relationship.”

“Ha. You said relationship.” 

“Shut up.” Stiles decided to match Derek’s answer’s maturity level and grabbed a good hold of a pillow, whacking Derek with it. “Are we good?”

“Yes.”

How would this work? With Stiles’ PTSD coming and going, no-one could predict if either of them could make due on what they were dealt with. Maybe Derek would get possessive anyway. Maybe Stiles would self-sabotage a too good thing in his life. Maybe Derek would find someone else, or the long distance thing wouldn't turn up such a good idea after all. And then there was Stiles’ number one fan waiting for future stalking opportunities. But they wouldn't know if they wouldn't try. 

“Good. Now put on some clothes, you have a parent to meet, and this awkward situation I don’t want to miss.” 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> The fic started because I love porn star AUs and wanted to write my own, but instead of a steamy happy AU my fic morphed in to a story about living with PTSD and coming home to face the demons you left behind.
> 
> The Crestomanci quote Stiles uses is a reference to a children's fantasy book _Charmed Life_ by Diana Wynne Jones. The quip about putting dogs through college is lifted from comedian Bianca Del Rio.
> 
> I know that the ending is quite abrupt, but you know those fics that you write and write and they never seem to get done? This is one of them. It hung unfinished maybe a year before it was in a condition to be posted. But on other hand, finishing this made me inspired, so there might be a short sequel where Stiles will introduce Derek to his new industry "family".


End file.
